


Double Espresso

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Mob Boss!au, Mob boss Hannibal, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: A sequel toWinston's Cafebyobfuscatedheart, written for the April Fool's Fic Swap!Learning each other in their new relationship, Will and Hannibal also deal with the recurring rage of The Great Red Dragon.





	Double Espresso

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obfuscatedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obfuscatedheart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Winston’s Cafe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148526) by [obfuscatedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obfuscatedheart/pseuds/obfuscatedheart). 



They went on a date. And then another, and another. Will’s bruises healed.

They were just dates. Until they weren’t. Until Will saw Hannibal far more often than he didn’t. Until men with the tell-tale bulge of concealed carry started regularly patronizing his establishment, under the guise of ‘working’ away on laptops, like Will couldn’t see them watching him.

“You’re over-protective,” He accused Hannibal. Hannibal sucked a bruise just over a place on Will’s chest that had born a similar mark after The Red Dragon’s visit, and smiled up at him.

“Am I?”

_____

Strange men came in and out on a regular basis, but so did Hannibal himself.

Hannibal, sitting in the window with a laptop and a scone.

Hannibal, at the counter, charming Will’s part-time help.

Hannibal, in the back, pressing Will up against the cool steel of the fridge, kissing him breathless.

It was not that Will was unaware of what Hannibal did. He had read the news articles. Nothing could be pinned on Hannibal, of course, or he wouldn’t be sitting in Will’s café six days a week drinking Chai tea. But the articles name-dropped him every chance they got, and of course, there had been the Red Dragon incident.

So it wasn’t that Will didn’t know, it was more that… Well… He didn’t  _ care _ .

Hannibal kissed him like he meant it, pressed bruises into his skin that Will could linger over when they were apart. Paid for his tea, though Will would have gladly given it away. Brought Will little gifts. And then bigger gifts.

_____

First had been the flowers. Hannibal had shown up for their first official date with them, an assortment of greens and ivories instead of the more cliché red roses. Will had touched the soft petal of a lily with an aching fondness tight in his chest.

Flowers had come again the next morning, awaiting Will in the locked café. There’d been a box of chocolates, slightly more traditional, if more imported than Will was used to.

Of course Hannibal, being Hannibal, could not be satisfied with tiny trinkets alone.

A wristwatch, shining and silver and fitted perfectly to the curve of Will’s wrist. A winter coat, thick brown wool with dark buttons. The gun.

The gun was heavy in Will’s hands, cold metal, solid and sturdy. He’d held a gun before. He’d been a homicide detective in New Orleans. He still had the firearm he’d used.

He told Hannibal this, as Hannibal pressed the gun into his hands.

“Ah, but this one has been carefully maintained, and not shoved into a drawer to await nightmares.”

Will was pretty sure he’d been insulted, but Hannibal pressed himself up against Will’s back to show him how to aim, guiding Will’s arms with his warm, steady hands, and Will forgot everything else, including that he already knew how to shoot a gun.

____

The note showed up in the middle of the night. Will went to bed safe, secure, alone. He woke to a note on the pillow beside him, brushing up against his clenched fist.

The Dragon had not come to hurt him, not this time. He didn’t have to. He’d walked right past the men Will knew Hannibal had sent to watch him, though he’d yet to actually  _ see _ them around his home. Past seven dogs. Past locked doors. He’d been in Will’s home, in his  _ bed _ . The sheets smelled like cheap cologne and sweat.

A warning.  _ You were told to stay away. _

Will folded up the note. He did not throw it away.

Nor did he show it to Hannibal.

_____

When Hannibal called to cancel dinner, Will knew. He closed the shop up early, shooing out stragglers who were clearly in Hannibal’s employ, given the way one of them attempted to sit him down and soothe him with his own damn coffee. Will was fury and rage. He would not be soothed, not when Hannibal had never missed out on a chance to feed him before.

“If you want to help so badly,  _ you _ lock up,” He told a particularly insistent man, shoving the shop keys into his hands.

They preferred to spend time in Will’s home, his comfort zone. Isolated, quiet. Surrounded by dogs. But Will still knew the way to Hannibal’s home.

He pounded on the door with a heavy fist. “Hannibal! I know you’re in there! Answer the door before the neighbors start staring.” Hannibal would hate that, no doubt. He hated drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He answered the door with a frown that was hampered a bit by the bruising around his eye and the slice someone had drawn from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.

Will paused, hand still raised mid-knock. “The next words out of your mouth had better be, ‘you should see the other guy,’” He growled, pushing past Hannibal into the house, “Where is your first-aid kit?”

“My wounds have already been tended.”

“Not by me.”

“Will, I was a  _ surgeon _ .”

“Hannibal.” Will’s voice was sharp, rough around the edges. He looked back at Hannibal, and saw a flash of alarm cross his face. He wondered if the hollow feeling in his chest showed in his eyes.

Hannibal brought him the first-aid kit. Will unwrapped and re-wrapped each and every injury in a stony silence.

“You should see the other guy,” Hannibal tried, wincing at the fresh burn of antiseptic against his cheek. Will bit down hard on his lower lip. “Will…”

“It was the Dragon, wasn’t it?” Will asked. He didn’t need Hannibal’s nod. There was no one else who knew Hannibal well enough to get under his guard, to slip into his home and try to rip him to pieces. And to slip right back out again; Hannibal would not look so guilty if he’d killed the man. The Red Dragon still walked the streets.

“If it helps, he left limping.”

“It doesn’t,” Will said, short-tempered, “This is my fault.”

Hannibal looked startled. It was not a look Will was used to seeing on his face.

“Will…”

“He told me to stay away,” Will explained, “And I didn’t listen. He’s punishing me, not you.”

“Will, Francis has been looking to tear me to pieces since long before I met you. He was disgruntled by his place in the hierarchy. He’s a lonely boy with delusions of grandeur, he-“

Will pulled the note from his coat pocket. It still smelled like cologne. Hannibal looked thunderous.

“Where did you get this?”

“He left it in my bed.”

All the air went out of the room. A dozen different emotions flickered across Hannibal’s face. Shock, betrayal, outrage.

Fear.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I was going to!” Will insisted, “But you’ve been busy all week, and-“

“Busy looking after  _ you _ .”

“Something I never asked you to do!” Will shouted, “And besides,  _ you _ weren’t going to tell me about  _ this. _ ” He gestured towards Hannibal’s bruises, staring him down.

For a moment, Hannibal seemed to be gearing himself up for another comeback. Then, he deflated, sinking back into his chair. He dragged Will with him, yanking him off balance. Will let out a startled yelp as he found himself cradled in Hannibal’s arms.

“I’ve been having you followed,” Hannibal began. Will tried not to roll his eyes; That much had been obvious from the start. “He should not have been able to get into your home,” Hannibal continued, “Not without being spotted. There is a mole.”

That was a bit more unexpected. Will stiffened. A mole meant trouble, meant that the Dragon might waltz right into more than just Will’s isolated home.

It explained how he’d gotten to Hannibal. Someone on the inside, helping him track Hannibal down.

“You’ll spend the night,” Hannibal said, grip tightening, “And we’ll fetch the dogs in the morning.”

“…What?”

“You’re moving in.”

Will shoved at Hannibal’s chest until there was enough space for Will to look him in the eyes. “Generally, that’s supposed to be a question,” He joked.

“Will.” There was no levity in Hannibal’s voice, no room for debate. That hint of fear had not left him. Will quieted.

“Alright,” He whispered, cupping the unblemished side of Hannibal’s face. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

_____

It was a nice idea, in theory. They knew each other well enough that moving in would have been the next logical step, regardless. There was less room for the dogs to run around, but they loved the dog park, even if Will didn’t care for over-eager fellow dog-owners. Hannibal appreciated the chance to have a heavier hand in Will’s diet, and Will appreciated the constant access to Hannibal, less sleepless nights wondering if he’d made it home okay.

It didn’t help, in the end. All it did was paint a bigger target on Will’s back.

The night the Dragon came, Hannibal was out. He was out, because someone had set fire to one of his warehouses, all the way across the city. It was not a coincidence.

Will had not slept. He laid awake in bed, listening to the creak of the house. Old houses always creaked, even when someone had put as much meticulous care into them as Hannibal had into his.

In the days they’d lived together, Will had slept better than he ever had. ‘Better’ was still less than a normal person, however, and Will’s chronic insomnia had helped him to memorize every shift the house made. Wind through the shutters.

The creek of the third step from the top.

Will had long suspected Hannibal of purposefully engineering that creak. Now, heart slamming into his throat, he was sure of it. He scrambled out of bed, reaching for his pants. The dogs sniffed at the door. They were not supposed to be in the bed, but Hannibal knew damn well Will snuck them in every chance he got.

Hannibal would have hoped Will was sleeping. He would have walked quietly He would have skipped the creaky step.

Will shooed the dogs into the closet and shut the door behind them. No point in hiding. The door was already opening.

Francis Dolarhyde had expected a mafia wife, pretty to look at, but defenseless beyond a guard he’d already infiltrated. Someone already scared of him from the beating they’d received once before. Asleep, guard down, secure in their safety.

Instead, he got Will Graham, angry and protective of his household, and, more importantly, prepared this time.

Will did not have the upper hand; Francis had figured out fairly quickly that the bed was empty and trained his gun on Will before he could move. But Will was patient, empty-handed but cautious. And Francis liked to use his hands.

Francis grinned at him, all teeth, The Great Red Dragon and the Man Clothed In Hanes T-Shirts. The Dragon lunged.

Will went down fighting, fang and claw. Francis managed to pin his hands but got Will’s teeth in his forearm for his trouble. He roared with pain, smacking Will’s head against the floor so Will saw stars. Will swallowed his mouthful. More blood than flesh, but enough to leave Francis aching.

Francis grabbed Will by the hair, dragging him up off the floor. “I told you to stay away,” He growled, “I told you Hannibal was nothing but trouble. Now look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

He yanked Will to his side, holding the gun to his temple. The barrel was cool, solid and painfully tight to Will’s skull. Francis turned him towards the door. They were no longer alone in the room.

The step had not creaked, when Hannibal came up the stairs. Even moving quickly, desperate to get to Will, he had avoided announcing his presence, his steps silent. There was rage in his eyes, but also devastation. Will thought back to what he knew of Hannibal, of what had set him on this path. Isolated, by choice and by fate. A sister Will would never meet. Friends who barely knew him.

And now Will. Everything. Life and love and happiness, at the barrel end of a gun. Will met his eyes and tried to silently make a promise he could keep.

“What do you want, Francis?” Calm. Quiet. As if Hannibal felt not a single shred of emotion. Will knew better. So did Francis.

“You know what I want.” Control. Security. Francis was a man of a thousand fears, a thousand worries. He hated himself, and therefore assumed everyone else did. To Francis, a man like Hannibal was the ideal. Beloved by all, at least on the surface. A media darling, even though everyone knew what he was.

“I cannot make them follow you,” Hannibal said, “That is something you have to earn.”

“Liar!” Francis jerked Will tighter against him, choking him with the arm around his throat. Will struggled to keep breathing, keep his calm. “Everyone listens to you, they do what you say.”

“I sign their paychecks, nothing more.”

“We were equals,” Francis growled. This was a story Will had only heard pieces of, but he was able to stitch things together for himself. “Abel’s loyal right-hand men, the both of us. It could have been me.”

Abel Gideon, the man behind the mob for so many years, until his unfortunate death. An accident, they said, but Will knew Hannibal’s artwork by heart. And then Hannibal had stepped neatly into his shoes while the body was still warm, and the rest was history.

“It  _ should _ have been me,” Francis said, his hands shaking, “I was just as strong as you were. But you just walked in that night and took over. And I… I was left with…”

Francis and Hannibal had been Gideon’s boys together, but Francis had never been Hannibal’s right-hand man. And never would have been, even if he had not just signed his own death warrant.

Ire rising up again, Francis turned the gun on Hannibal. That was the opening Will needed. He shoved his shoulder up under Francis’s raised arm, forcing the gun towards the ceiling. A shot rang out; Will could only hope it missed the intricate molding Hannibal was so fond of. Keeping Francis’s arm up and safely aimed away, Will whirled around, drawing the gun from the pocket of his sweatpants.

There had not been time to draw it earlier, not with Francis aiming his way and then trapping him against the ground, but Will more than made up for it now. He pulled the trigger, and again. Francis’s body jerked, and he dropped his gun.

The Great Red Dragon, scourge of Baltimore, looked confused. Far from processing, he seemed completely baffled by the sudden burst of pain. He tried to step forward towards Will, body jerking. He was a wind-up toy, caught in the same repetitive motion, still trying to come for Will even as his batteries wound down.

Will shot him again. Over and over, until the body stopped moving forward and collapsed into a heap. Until there was nothing left of the Great Red Dragon. Until the gun made an empty clicking noise and Hannibal placed a gentle hand over Will’s own. Will let the gun fall and whirled to face him.

“He won’t touch you,” Will growled, “No one will ever touch you again.”

“My vicious creature,” Hannibal said, looking awed. He cupped Will’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Will would not be soothed.

“Budge is fired. Where was he? He should have been watching out for you, for us. He can’t call himself your second if a threat can waltz right into  _ our _ home-“ Adrenaline and rage conspired to keep Will babbling. Hannibal had to hush him with another kiss.

“I’ll sign his pink slip in the morning,” Hannibal promised. Will growled his displeasure.

“No. I’m going to do it.”

“Anything you say, my Will.”

Will grinned.

 


End file.
